


//:

by antineutrinos



Category: Hat Films - Fandom, The Yogscast
Genre: I hate myself, M/M, PWP, Smut, literally just smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2019-02-09 19:53:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12895527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antineutrinos/pseuds/antineutrinos
Summary: Smith wouldn’t miss Trott’s blowjobs for the world. He’s good and it, andJesus-





	//:

**Author's Note:**

> shoutout to thatannoyingbella for 1) making me finish this and 2) making me post this and 3) being such a pal

“We shouldn’t- do this here-“

The words tumble out of Trott’s mouth, breathless and small. He presses his hands into Smith’s side, trying to get his message through.

Smith’s hands are everywhere- Trott’s hair, his jaw, fiddling with the buttons of his shirt. Crawling down his back. Crawling lower, but never low enough. He grins against Trott’s lips, grinds against Trott’s hips. He can hear Trott’s breathing catch, can hear the protests die in his throat as they’re swapped out for a moan.

“And you,” Smith smirks, “should not be wearing all these clothes.”

 

 

Smith’s grin disappears when Trott sticks his hand down Smith’s pants. The cheeky look to his eye is gone, and his eyes crinkle at the corners as he groans.

“For fuck’s sake, Trott,” he murmurs, resting his forehead against Trott’s. Trott leans forward and sucks a bruise onto the tender, milky skin beneath Smith’s collarbones. His shirt’s still on, but it’s unbuttoned half way down his chest. It’s untouched, a place where the sun can’t touch it. Trott feels privileged that he’s the one touching it instead.

Smith groans again, a long whine. All he can feel is skin against skin and mouth on skin and hand on skin and-

“Suck my _fucking_ dick, Trott, I swear to-“

Smith’s eyes are closed now, his lips red and bruised. Trott revels in the feeling of power, the feeling of control.

“What’s the magic word?” He asks, voice silky and smooth. He’s really laying it on now, teasing Smith. Smith knows it, too, knows he can’t do anything but stop it, knows he can do nothing but beg-

Smith’s eyes snap open. They meet Trott’s immediately, and there is something primal hidden in their depths.

“Please,” Smith says, breathless and croaky. Trott trails his hands down Smith’s stomach, still concealed by the clothes they hadn’t bothered to get rid of. He hums in response, feeling his way down, down, _down_ -

 

 

Trott has replaced his hand with his mouth. He is warm and wet and everything Smith can’t handle right now. He tangles his fingers in Trott’s hair. He pulls and tugs, and when Trott hums around his cock, Smith swears he enters a new dimension.

Trott licks his way down to the base of his cock, then goes back to the top, and he keeps doing that. It’s teasing, touching but not _touching_ and Smith is so close to orgasm and so close to killing Trott for doing this. However, when Trott does suck him properly, it feels like something Smith has never experienced before. There’s the familiar tightness in the base of his stomach, coiled, poised like a snake-

When Smith comes, it is not because Trott sucked him off. It’s because of Trott’s eyes, big and brown; his lips, swollen; the hickeys across his neck- it’s everything, really. Smith is never able to handle Trott on a good day, let alone when he sucks Smith’s dick.

 

 

 


End file.
